


A Night of Fire and Noise

by collie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Demons, Dystopia, F/F, Femslash, Fingerfucking, Future Fic, Oral Sex, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-08
Updated: 2013-10-08
Packaged: 2017-12-28 20:49:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/996545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collie/pseuds/collie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Where are you posted tonight?” Allison asks as they come to a stop near one of the many checkpoints.</p><p>“The abandoned Shell station on the east side of town,” Lydia sighs dramatically as she glances in that very direction. “How thrilling for me, right? Spending the night in an old, disgusting gas station, without any chocolate or People magazines to keep me company.”</p><p>They share an ironic laugh, because it's been years since either of them had even <i>heard</i> of anyone seeing any chocolate or a copy of People magazine. Scott and Stiles are always joking about turning the old high school lacrosse field into a Thunderdome, and Lydia's just thrilled that she looks so good in body armor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Night of Fire and Noise

**Author's Note:**

> This started as a short one-shot for [Teen Wolf Femslash Week](http://twfemslash.tumblr.com/), but then I accidentally developed a post-ap world that I kind of like, so. Oops.
> 
> No show spoilers.
> 
> Fanmix: [We're the Gladiators](http://archiveofourown.org/works/996886).

In December of 2012, the world ended just as predicted.

By late 2015, women were slowly healing the world that men and wolves and demons had destroyed in war. It was only now that Allison truly understood what her father had meant when he'd told her that the Argents raised their sons to be soldiers and their daughters to be leaders.

 

“God, why do I still bother doing my nails?” Lydia complains as she trudges through the debris-strewn street, hardly recognizing the bombed-out and burned-down husks, shells, and facades of the buildings of the Beacon Hills she once knew. This was a new city, built up like a fort; more practical that beautiful. Meant to keep the people in and the _monsters_ out.

“Because 'it's the little things, Ally',” Allison says, her voice hitching up to a falsetto as she playfully imitates Lydia's voice, quoting the shorter girl's most beloved saying right back at her. She even goes so far as to pretend-flip her hair back over her shoulder as she speaks, despite the long brunette locks being tucked up under a beanie. “And as much as I know I used to tease you for it, I do agree that you're right.”

“Of course I am,” Lydia chirps self-indulgently as she scans her eyes over the reddish-orange polish that coats her short nails, already chipping at the ends. “Because I'm a genius, and if it weren't for me we wouldn't even _have_ nail polish.”

“Touché,” Allison laughs, stepping in to playfully bump her hip against her friend's as they wander down the street.

From the neck up they both look like both normal 21-year-old young women; maybe a little rough around the edges and maybe they could use some more sleep, but there's nothing really remarkable there. They're both pretty in that tired, drawn way that was so popular on the fashion runways of Paris and Milan back in the 1990's, but not much makeup has graced their faces in years. Well, nothing but the black kohl everyone uses sometimes to reduce the glare of the sun around their eyes.

Short suits of thin body armor cover their chests and torsos, looking sort of like those leotards from the 1980's – like a tank top attached to a pair of bike shorts – and over it they both wear the standard issue black cargo pants and boots, both shabby and patched and comfortable from near-continuous wear over the past year. Lydia likes to wear a loose tank top over her's, and maybe one of Stiles' hoodies when it gets cold, and Allyson prefers sweaters.

It isn't as if everyone has just given up on their identities to become soldiers for the cause; far from it. These girls just happen to be going to work. Later on Lydia will slip back into one of her favorite dresses and a pair of pretty flats. She'll brush her hair to a dull luster after sprinkling in cornstarch to soak up the oil that accumulates between her weekly baths (which is all they're really allowed, conserving water and all that). She'll touch up the nail polish that will inevitably chip even more during her guard duty tonight, and try to perfume the stink of blood and dirt and cordite out of her skin with oils.

She'll join the rest of her family – Allison, Stiles, Scott, Isaac, Derek, Cora, Danny, and all of their parents – as the sun starts to rise, and they'll all pretend to be normal for a little while. Breakfast at someone's house, maybe even in the backyard if the weather is nice and the air isn't too ashy. A bonfire, fresh eggs, and whatever is picked from the garden. Some laughs and stories from anyone who was out patrolling the night before. Teasing and playfulness and maybe sneaking a little kiss or two from a honey.

The little things. It might not be their ideal, but it _is_ _theirs_ , and no one is going to take it away from them. Not the little tomcat-sized imps that scratch at your legs if you make the mistake of walking through a patch of dark shadow, or even the fifty-foot titans that sometimes roam through the uninhabited wastes alone, looking for God knows what, going God knows where. They stay away from the cities because the light hurts their eyes, but even after three years it still makes Lydia want to vomit and shake and scream seeing one of them moving like an iceberg through the suburbs, through an abandoned field, or even down the lonely stretch of highway outside of the city. They're just so big it shatters her reality, even though this _is_ their reality now.

Strangely, demons are like dogs. The smaller they are, the meaner and louder they are. They run in little packs, and they're annoying as shit, but not _that_ dangerous. They really big ones, they seem content to be alone, and they don't really bother anyone or anything that doesn't bother them first. They'll accidentally kill you just as soon as anything if you're not careful around one, though. They remind Lydia of whales, and as she's said on more than one occasion, _we're all just plankton to them_.

Sometimes she remembers back just a few years ago when she first found out about werewolves. How scary that had been; how it had turned her entire world upside down. Usually she reminisces when she needs a good laugh.

“You on with Scott tonight?” Lydia asks as she reaches over her shoulder to tug at her braided pigtails, taking a few seconds to twist them up into flat buns on either side of her head before she tugging her beanie down over them. She only started wearing her hair like that recently, because it delights her how much it drives Stiles crazy; her 'Princess Leia 'do,' as he calls it.

“Isaac,” Allison responds as she digs into the pocket of her nylon cargo pants, pulling out a roughly-laminated identification card that gives her license to carry and wield _all_ weapons. It lists her name, her rank, and her qualifications, but it's really all a formality at this point. The city guards all know who she is – the Argents, the McCalls, the Stilinskis, and the Hales – those four families saved this town, rebuilt this town, and now basically run this town. “Dad keeps getting on my case about patrolling with Scott. Says we get too distracted,” she laughs, and Lydia just grins and shakes her head because 'distracted' is probably the understatement of the year.

They slow their walk a bit as they approach the only intersection left that hadn't been turned into a crater shortly after everyone realized that a lot of the demons needed crossroads to come through. This intersection had been spared only because it sits on a ley line convergence, one of the several that run through Beacon Hills, and the local witches demanded they be able to draw on it for the power they'd need to help defend the city.

“Where are you posted tonight?” Allison asks as they come to a stop near one of the many checkpoints, both girls flashing their I.D.s at the guard who just waves them through, knowing full well who they are. She glances at Lydia, who is re-shouldering her rifle which slipped a bit down during their walk.

“The abandoned Shell station on the east side of town,” Lydia sighs dramatically as she glances in that very direction, a rare breeze brushing cool air over her face “How thrilling for me, right? Spending the night in an old, disgusting gas station, without any chocolate or People magazines to keep me company.”

They share an ironic laugh, because it's been years since either of them had even _heard_ of anyone seeing any chocolate or a copy of People magazine. Scott and Stiles are always joking about turning the old high school lacrosse field into a Thunderdome, and Lydia's just thrilled that she looks so good in body armor.

“Well, tell Cora I said hi,” Allison says with a little grin and a playful salute as she begins walking backwards toward the south side of the intersection. The Argents are very, very well-regarded in Beacon Hills these days, not only for their knowledge and experience in hunting monsters, but for their military acumen and tactical minds, which had been invaluable when the entire west coast of America had been abandoned by the government back in the middle of 2013.

A lost cause, the heads of state called it. Hell on earth. When both the Yellowstone Caldera erupted and the electromagnetic pulse that NASA had been warning the government about knocked the entire world offline, that was when they struck. When all the lights went away and ash blotted out the sun, that's when the demons crawled out of their pits and tried to take over the world.

This is no-man's land, from the coast of the Pacific Ocean stretched out to Lake Havasu in the south, Las Vegas, and for a 500 mile radius in all directions out from Yellowstone. It was all abandoned wastelands now, and not many people lived out here. Most had fled east to the cities or the opposite coast, where the government still gave a shit. Out here it was all tiny kingdoms, flag-planters, land-grabbers, highwaymen, carpetbaggers, and war bands, now. They lived in anarchy and only the strong survived, but thankfully for Beacon Hills, they had a werewolf pack.

They lost Peter first, if you could really call it a loss. He disappeared a month after The Fall (that's what people were calling it, anyway) and no one had heard from him since. Some of the wolves have reported catching his scent miles out, and Lydia is pretty positive he just joined up with the other side. To each his own; she doesn't spare him much thought these days, but they still keep a lookout regardless.

Sometimes, late at night when they're all feeling a little lonely, Cora talks about going out there to find him. Maybe to try and convince him to come back. Lydia is always gentle when she reminds Cora that Peter's gone, and no matter what she might see out there wearing his face, it won't be him. Not anymore.

It's been three years since and everyone else is still with them, but it's an unspoken assumption between the core group that everyone keep a bit of a close eye on Isaac.

The only good thing about guard duty is the fact that Lydia gets to listen to music as loudly as she wants. Old radios and boom boxes still work, and as long as they keep the batteries charged using hand-crank generators, they can have music until the cassette tapes and CDs run out. The only down side is that most of their music is now _really_ out-dated, but that's okay. It's better than nothing.

The demons shy away from human voices, so having someone at your post with you is also a bonus. Cora is fourteen minutes late, though, and Lydia is starting to get worried. Sure, precise time isn't nearly as important these days as it used to be, but they still have wind-up pocket watches and everyone has a rough idea of how to read a sun-dial, but that's pretty useless at night. She's about to radio into one of the checkpoints to see if Cora's checked in when she hears a rustle out in the dry brush.

The city keeps the wilds cut back about twenty yards away from the city limits, which makes it both less convenient for anything to try and sneak into Beacon Hills, and more difficult for anyone to try and set them on fire. Both have been attempted too many times to not take extreme precautions.

“Crap,” Lydia whispers to herself as she jumps to her feet, out of one of the three lawn chairs they keep strewn about up on the flat roof of the gas station. The best vantage point is the roof, and considering the never-ending float of volcanic ash in the sky, it doesn't get too uncomfortably hot during the day anymore. But right now it's pitch black night out, and despite all the years Lydia's been doing this, she still feels her heart jump and her stomach bottom out.

Lydia's never had to fight one of these things by herself, and within seconds her skin is crawling as her nerves catch fire, her body flooding with adrenaline as the fight or flight instinct kicks in. Her default is still flight, but she likes to think she's been trained pretty well in fight. She's a damn great sniper, in any case, and hopefully this thing won't get too up close and personal.

Another rustle in the dry brush, and through the scope of the rifle Lydia can see bushes moving, and it's certainly not the wind because there _is_ no wind. Lydia can feel herself starting to sweat. She _hates_ sweating, so now of course this thing has to die even more for inconveniencing her.

“Ah, shit,” she hisses as another movement catches her eye, coming in from the right and moving at top damn speed, as quick as it can, toward the first rustle. Lydia huffs in annoyance and keeps the barrel trained on both as they connect out in the tall, tall grass. “Cora, you suck... where are you?” she grumbles to herself as she switches the scope's night-vision to 'on', which is what suddenly answers her question.

 _Oh_. Because there's Cora, out in the middle of the near-waste, wrestling one of the creepy coyote-sized demon dogs to the ground.

Lydia draws in a deep, grounding breath, centering herself and falling into work-mode. She runs a few calculations lightning-quick through her brain, taking into account the density of the ash in the air tonight and the real curvature of the patch of land they stood on, not just the perceived. The only time she's grateful for the lack of wind is when she's about to blow the head off of something from far away.

“Hey, babe, looking good out there,” Lydia teases in a conversational tone of voice, hoping that the werewolf is paying attention. She slips a small device over the shell of her ear and clicks a switch, and her world is immediately filled with static. The modified hearing-aid takes in all of the sound around her and filters it, the burst of white noise quickly muffling out to a dull background noise as the spell the witches cast on it centers in on Cora's voice.

Lydia has to remember to give Stiles a big, huge kiss one of these days. His magic skills are amazing, and they're just getting better and better.

“-ure I look like a fucking beauty queen,” Lydia catches as Cora finally comes online, about halfway through what sounds like just another typical Hal-esque rant.

“You want the spotlight?” Lydia asks, reaching out with the toe of her boot to catch the metal frame of the old auto light and drags it closer, just in case. “Or are we axing this one?” Most of the time, with the animalistic ones, all you have to do is show them a little dominance and shine some bright lights and they run off, never to be seen again. Sometimes – rarely, but sometimes – the hellhouds go rabid and _have_ to be put down.

“It's foaming,” Cora growls in frustration as gold eyes flash, and Lydia feels her muscles tense a bit in anticipation. She's worried for her partner, of course, but if anyone can take care of themselves, it's Cora. Lydia's more worried about not being able to make the kill with one shot. If one of these things runs back to it's master with any of their bullets inside of it, then that's one of their secret weapons straight down the drain.

Red phosphorous, potassium chlorate, and water that's been boiled (and in some cases, and iodized); essentially, strike-anywhere match-heads and bottled water. Instant incendiary ammo. Didn't take a genius to figure it out, but they were lucky they had one in Lydia because she sure figured it out faster than than anyone else would have. It wasn't anything too amazing or inspired, but the last thing they wanted was for the more intelligent demons to start hoarding all of the matches.

“You know what to do, Cor,” Lydia mutters, taking another deep breath and lining the shot up. Her aim is about two feet in the air over Cora's left shoulder, because having worked with the wolf for as long as she has, Lydia's come to learn that Cora favors her left arm just a bit, because she's stronger in her right, so she'll use that leverage when tossing demons in the air for Lydia to shoot. It's sort of like a really morbid, macabre skeet-shooting game. Like Duck Hunt for really fucked up grown-ups.

The rifle crack echoed through the quiet night air, and Lydia smiles as she watches Cora leap into the air, throwing herself elegantly away from the twisted demon dog that half-explodes, half-catches fire in mid-air. “Yes!” Lydia exclaims, doing a little booty-dance as she grins, watching the creature crumble to cinder and ash in mid-air before raining to the ground.

“You are so cute,” Cora says with a chuckle and a shake to her head as she jogs up to the gas station, rolling her right shoulder as she works the muscle back to good. She might make throwing demons up in the air look like child's play, but even werewolves can over-extend their joints and pull muscles from time to time. Naturally it's healed by the time she jumps up to join Lydia on the roof, but before any words are exchanged, Scott's voice crackles through from the other end of the radio.

“Come in, post three; you ladies okay?” he asks, and while Cora rolls her eyes at the alpha's constant vigilance, Lydia smiles fondly and answers him in the affirmative. She then makes a short report back to her mom at dispatch, logs the hour and quantity of their kill, which rounds she used, and any enduring injuries that Cora may have sustained (none).

“Is this going to take much longer?” Cora asks as she slips out of her jacket, dark eyes piercing the back of Lydia's neck. She stares at the redhead, who's crouched next to a makeshift table (that's really just an old Igloo cooler with a crack in the side turned upside down), scribbling out a quick report for the log book. You can take reality out of reality and fill the world with catastrophe and (even more) monsters, but you can't take the well-organized, slightly obsessive nerd out of Lydia Martin.

Lydia nods her head and slaps the logbook closed, her lips curving up into a beatific smile as big hazel eyes lift and land on Cora's face.

“Good,” the brunette says, as she reaches up and tugs her own beanie off, letting her hair fall in a dark cascade over broad shoulders. “Because I haven't seen you in three days, and that fight was _really_ unsatisfying.”

Lydia smirks knowingly and tips the Igloo cooler over just a bit, before reaching under it and tugging out a folded blanket.

“I missed you, too, Cora.”

 

The best part about the apocalypse has to be the privacy.

Up here, on top of the blasted out gas station's roof, there's nothing between Cora and Lydia and the night sky except warm air. No interruptions, no prying eyes, and no disturbances. Which is why Lydia doesn't hold back her breathy gasp as Cora's tongue teases over an old scar on the smaller girl's inner thigh, hands unzipping and tugging the body armor off and tossing it aside (not _too_ far) to join discarded cargo pants.

Cora's hair falls over her shoulders and tickles Lydia's skin as the pretty wolf's mouth drags up to brush hot, teasing breath along the length of Lydia's core. She noses at the sparse, soft hair there as her hands curl around the redhead's slender thighs and press them back, pushing her open, _keeping_ her open. Finally, a soft breeze rolls across them, and Lydia squirms a bit as her nipples tighten under the thin fabric of her tank.

“I love when you tease,” she whispers, her toes curling inside her boots as the the barest tip of Cora's tongue parts her slick folds. “ _Ahh_ , god,” the human girl sighs as the bad tension drains out and the good tension settles in, tightening up all the right muscles, and leaving the others to jelly. Cora's tongue is hungry for her taste, and the wolf is shameless and ruthless and greedy, dragging sounds out of her lover that she's certain her brother will be able to hear wherever he is.

No doubt they'll get it back just as good the next time they're on guard duty the same night as Derek as Stiles, and Lydia can't help a soft, distracted grin as she recalls the first time they witnessed Stiles' surprise at even being capable of having sounds like that coming out of him. Lydia is grateful for the Hales every day for being there to catch both her and Stiles after their messy, emotional break-up, though she sometimes suspiciously wonders with the looks Cora and Derek sometimes share between them, if those two wicked little shits had anything to do with sowing dissension... but it didn't matter, not really. They're all much happier now, and _that's_ what's important.

“ _Mnn_ , Cora, _fuck_...” Lydia groans, as the brunette's lips finally close around the swollen bud at the apex of her sex, sending Lydia trembling and whimpering. Pink-tipped fingers find their way into Cora's hair and scratch over the back of her head, encouraging but not pushing her luck, while her other hand shoves up her tank top to squeeze over one of her breasts, fingertips teasing at a nipple just as Cora's tongue drags with a sinful purpose over her clit.

Lydia's hips buck and strain against the firm grip of her lover's hands, and it isn't until she's sheening lightly with sweat and has her free hand curling into a tight fist against her forehead, until every sound that she's making is tight and keening, and she's pleading with every inch of her body, that Cora finally grants her release. Three long fingers slip inside of the human girl, curling and pressing with a firm expertise at her slick walls, rubbing and coaxing as Cora's lips and tongue stroke and suck firmly.

Cora isn't the most gentle lover, but she's exactly what Lydia wants and needs, and at the demand of her hot, wet mouth, Lydia cries her pleasure to the night sky. She shudders as she comes, clamping tightly around the brunette's strong fingers as Cora continues to lap at her core, her fingers thrusting in deep and hard now. She refuses to break rhythm, _refuses_ to let Lydia squirm away from her until she comes a second time.

“God, _fuck_ ,” Lydia groans, gasping and shaking as she finally goes slack, her pretty breasts heaving in the moonlight, skin shining as she lays splayed out before Cora. The taller girl raises up to sit back on her knees, a smugly satisfied smirk on her lips as she peers down at the lovely sight beneath her with predatorily narrowed eyes.

“Think we won tonight?” Cora teases as she reaches down to tug her own tank top up and over her head, nonchalantly wiping at her mouth with the bunched up material before tossing it aside, leaving her braless and bare.

Before Lydia can answer, the radio crackles, and they're both already grinning as she grabs the comm and replies. “Post three, over,” she says through a barely-constrained laugh.

“You two _suck_ ,” comes Stiles' voice through a crackle of static, and the firm scolding in his voice does nothing to cover up the envy they can both hear. “I _never_ should have set up those damn roaming scrying wards, and now Scott won't let me change the channel and I'm getting all sorts of weird flashback emotions and feelings in my pants.”

“Derek relieved me for perimeter right before I got here,” Cora explains aside with a sly smile and a shrug as she hands run up along Lydia's thighs and over her stomach, lips dropping to kiss around the redhead's bellybutton. So Derek would be gone for the next three days, hence explaining Stiles' whining.

“I'm sorry, sweetie,” Lydia comms back to Stiles. “But if it makes you feel any better, you're still mine and Cora's first choice for man-meat if we ever decide to do a threesome.” A groan comes over the comm and the girls giggle, unable to tell if Stiles is groaning out of arousal at the thought, or because he knows Derek would never let him play with anyone else unless he was present, and with Derek and Cora... well, sibling complications, so.

“Stop teasing me with that, you harpies,” Stiles says with a laugh. “You foul succubuses of the night... or, wait, is it succubi? I think that's ri-”

“Okay! Stiles, we love you but we need to get back to work,” Lydia interrupts with a laugh, falling very quickly victim to the heat in Cora's eyes as she leans in to steal a firm, chaste kiss. “And stop watching us; it's a little creepy and gross. Night, guys!”

Lydia tosses the comm back toward the radio before reaching down and grabbing Cora by the shoulders, smiling as she stretches out beneath her very own pretty wolf-girl.

“Your turn,” Lydia murmurs with a soft, sweet kiss to lips that taste like her, and in the quiet of a ruined city, two lovers bring a little light and beauty back to pierce the darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://galaxied.tumblr.com/) . [twitter](https://twitter.com/galaxied) . [policy](http://archiveofourown.org/users/collie/profile)


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